


Always There, If You Reach For It

by ZombyEmblem



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Self-Hatred, swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombyEmblem/pseuds/ZombyEmblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an adult should mean being free to control your own destiny, but not everyone wants that. When your brain tells you everyone's watching to make sure you do well, everything feels like a mistake.<br/>Noire struggles to realize she's got the power to do stuff for herself, as herself. A late-night attempt at cookies starts her on the slow and convoluted path to that realization. With a little help, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always There, If You Reach For It

Ordinarily, the overhead lights of the communal kitchen buzzed faintly in a pattern of audible wavelength. They probably were buzzing at that moment, too, but the bluster of the oven was covering it up. At three in the morning, the dorms were surprisingly still, leaving only the poofs of the clunky machine to fill in the quietude. Disruptive, probably; something people would complain about the next day, almost certainly; necessary, for sure.

Noire held her wispy hand up to the light. The trembling had subsided, it seemed, but no villain of the body was defeated without proper soothing. Thus, the ready-to-bake cookies now torching noisily in the big metal box on the floor. She still didn’t really know what set off tonight’s bout of nausea and fear, but then, she never did. Probably more than one thing causing it all, anyway. She ran a hand through her hair, breathing deep to try and get her heart back on track.

Admiring the architecture of the room always helped to distract her. Her free hand was gripping a black marble countertop that covered a set of wooden cabinets, all painted in black—actually, better to just say everything was black in here. Phila University was very unusual in its commitment to darker tones, but it gave the school a modern kind of feel. So, too, did the smooth floors and walls, so evenly decorated that it seemed they must have always existed just as they already looked. At any rate, it was a very comfortable home for the sickly little sociology major waiting for her sweets to be ready. It was a reminder of a home kept perpetually dark in a gesture of defiance toward the oppressive desert sun, a call back to simpler and less stressful times. Adulthood was funny that way, she thought with a hint of bitterness—basically the same as before, but different enough to be rather terrifying.

A comfortable home. Yes, what a nice school that she managed to mooch her way into.

That wasn’t fair, no, but it’s not like she got into the school without help. Of course she got help getting in. That’s another thing that didn’t change once she grew up.

“Seriously, what the _hell_?”

Apologies are at her lips, she may as well already be bowing in deference, and she’s sorry—her heart jumps so hard it falls _splat_ on the ground, have fun picking that up, she’s sorry for that too—she didn’t mean to wake up anyone, only to try and join their ranks for her own sake, and she’s sorry not only because it didn’t work but because this is only going to make it harder, but she’s sorry she ever tried, all the same, because nothing good ever comes of that, and… it’s Severa.

“Didn’t you go to bed already? I thought some creep kidnapped you or something!” she said in a hushed, gentle version of the normal hiss. _it’s Severa_. Still standing in the doorway, arms crossed indignantly, wearing her traditional sour expression, although maybe softer than the regular kind. She never untied her hair, so the usual twintails still cascaded with controlled but imperfect grace off the corners of her head. _It’s Severa. It's okay._ The hang of her eyelids suggested she was losing a climactic but uninteresting battle, with no coffee-based reinforcements to join the front lines. What a trooper. _It’s okay_.

“S-sorry. I just…”

“You felt sick again?” Severa was already on her way closer, her slippers hissing as they dragged across the hardwood floor past the little rug they’d set up under the table. Swish went the hair as she shook her head. “Who does your stomach think it is, keeping—keeping _both_ of us awake! The _nerve_!”

That earned a chuckle from Noire, who was well aware that nothing else could have woken her roommate. When Noire had finally felt rotten enough to emerge from her covers not even half an hour ago, she discovered that Severa had conked out on her laptop’s keyboard in the middle of a paper. The poor, tired spitfire didn’t even stir when Noire repositioned her head away from the keys proper, thus ending the cascade of useless letters that her forehead had typed. (Of course, it only felt right to go back and delete all the clutter for her, too.)

They were now both at the countertop—Noire leaned the back of her waist against the edge of the counter as if she could hop up and sit on it when prompted, and Severa faced the cabinets and stared down into the black marble like it could revive her raggedy eyes from the pits of despair. When she did look up to scowl at her nervous friend, Noire thought she looked like a cat that had just been forcibly bathed and was determined to hate everyone forever. “Hey, the rest of you isn’t off the hook yet! Why in the name of the gods are you using the oven?”

Even with the brief laugh, calm was beyond reach, and Noire did not have the preparation to maintain eye contact under questioning. “I was going to m-make cookies.”

Severa wrinkled her nose. “This late? Ugh. You’re gonna wake up everybody with this damn—”

A cute stomach growl suddenly cut her off, easy to hear even above the supposed noise of the damn oven.

She cleared her throat and tried (unsuccessfully) to ignore Noire’s fit of squeaky laughter. “A-Are they the good kind, like y-you usually bake, or…?”

“No, they’re the pre-packaged ones.”

“And do you know how long they’ve been in there?”

“Ah!” Not so fast, failure police! The momentum of the shivering in Noire’s fingers snapped into form as she scrabbled for the egg timer she’d set. Holding it up like an athletic medal, she said, “Ten minutes!”

“Huh. Well, good.” Severa let those sparse few words hang, dangling distractingly like an unintentionally jostled cat toy, its feathered tail drawing the eye away from the rod that controlled it. A person like Severa, someone who purposefully discarded their filter, rarely held their tongue like this. Now, though, she seemed to hold back her thoughts more strictly in the dusty fugue of sleep deprivation. But under the murmur of the stove, Noire knew exactly what comment left its void in the air, a bubble where it should have been. She could hear the words, distinguish the exact shift in pitch and tone. Dragging over wavelengths and filling in hisses of human breath like a string, the phrase she expected played back in her mind:

_I’m actually impressed._

“Impressed” because even the act of using a little timer to assist in baking should have been too responsible to expect of Noire.

“Actually” because Severa didn’t think that kind of progress was possible in the first place.

Thank the gods for the timer, because it went off right then. Noire stifled a yelp (mostly) and scurried over to the stove, hastily jamming mitts onto her hands to extract the dough. Severa’s scratchy, dragging footfalls sounded behind her as the grouchy girl shambled away from the counter to the table, plunking herself loudly in one of the chairs.

An immense cloud of heat greeted Noire as she pulled open the stove doors, earning a scrunch of the face in reaction. Like dragon’s breath, it was. No dragon, however, was fearsome enough to stand between her and her consumption of shitty baked goods. She could feel the shimmer of residual warmth on her chin as she lifted the tray and transferred it to the countertop. The treats would need to cool, and she waited patiently, knowing her other option was to go back to the table and face the scrutinizing eye of her best friend.

God _damn_ it. She knew she was putting words in Severa’s mouth, but was it really such a stretch to assume Severa would say something like that? She was the one person who’d stuck by and helped Noire no matter what she needed. Never once did she let her down! But of all the people, she’d be the first to get tired, wouldn’t she? She'd get frustrated, having to help so much. After all this empty progress, these late-night trips to the bathroom that Noire was too afraid to make on her own—no, too _weak_ to make on her own. Other people got scared and handled it just fine. Noire leaned all her weight onto the counter, ignoring the shaking in her upper arms, still horrifically unsteady. Her mind felt like it was blinking rapidly, but she had the awareness to note that “weak” was _definitely_ the right word.

She could feel tears welling up, and that only made things worse. Fucking useless. Falling to pieces like this. When they’d done so much to get her here. When everyone poured their time and effort into helping her succeed. And look how she repaid them.

The cookies seemed to be done cooling, so, smushing down the imminent distress, she took a spatula and scraped them out of the pan and into a bowl, which she then carried back to the table. Severa had taken a seat on the far side, next to the corner, so Noire took the chair next to it, at the head of the table (of course it had to be the seat that gets the most attention). Severa went straight for the things and started munching away, wordless yet again, but her roommate wasn’t paying attention. She cradled her head in her tremulous hands, no longer capable of stomaching any kind of food, not in front of anyone else. The tears didn’t exactly gush over the rims of her eyelids yet, but they didn’t go away, either—no matter how hard she blinked them back, breathed deeply, fought desperately to turn her thoughts toward _anything_ else.

All at once she was aware that her posture might be betraying her emotions, so she lifted her head and sat back in her chair. But of course, her characteristically sharp eyes caught Severa averting her gaze and acting as if she hadn’t been looking. And then it was Noire’s turn to avert her gaze, no defense against vile shame but the assurance of looking away, of not witnessing her pitiful self reflected in another’s eyes.

As the sniffling began and the shuddering turned violent, Noire thought bitterly that if she’d been seen hunched over like some destitute beggar, she might as well let loose the waterworks anyway. What dignity did she even have left? What did she have in the first place? This was the way it ought to be. Might as well just disappoint her best friend now, instead of continuing to act like she could handle her own emotions.

The first tear began to fall, rolling down her cheek in slow motion like some hideous comedy, a mockery of the utter ineffectiveness of her sadness. But quietly, softly, it was interrupted by a finger.

All sobs ceased. Noire was now misty-eyed, but she could still see how Severa, across the corner of the table, had reached over and stroked her cheek. While looking the other way, of course. One paradoxically gentle palm rested on the curve of her jaw, its fingers extending almost to her ear. The brushing motion it made was so minute, Noire could barely tell it was moving at all. Strange how time seemed so idle now, as if this were so important that everything else slowed down to watch.

It was the most noncommittal gesture of comfort ever, really—touching someone’s face with this much precision was a very intimate gesture, but to do it while facing away and without any pretense or forewarning made it seem almost casual, or at least careless. And come to think of it, that’s what was so comforting about it. It wasn’t some prop of support, some hastily-provided emotional crutch from which she’d never be able to tear herself away. No, it wasn’t a provision of help, it was a reminder that help existed. It was just there.

And it was so perfectly Severa of her to look away and pretend she wasn’t doing anything. She tried, really, but the whole “I don’t care about you” act never worked.

With some of her composure reinstated, Noire carefully reached up and laid her own hand over Severa’s. “Sorry,” she said. Even with all the complex social maneuvers that had just taken place, this was all she could think to say. All of her actual focus must have gone into the hand placement, something that would have taken incredible courage at any other time. But, after all, Severa _started_ it.

“Why?” Severa’s voice was at a mumble now, almost the same as before but with an undertone of protective anger. That was an oddly specific way to label someone’s tone of voice, yes, but Noire had heard it before, and calling it something else wouldn’t do it justice. Even with the threatening undertone, it was still an indicator of compassion, something Severa had begun to dispense carefully over the past months as she realized that some needed it more than she.

“Keeping you up. You know.”

Severa still didn’t look at her. Her thumb started tracing slow, smooth circles on Noire’s cheekbone, a very deliberate movement. “Forget it.”

“Still, though, in the morning you’re going to be so tired…” Noire wanted to break out of this cycle of regret and apology, but the old gnawing fear was nibbling at her. Any perceived grievance was in need of atonement.

“Gods, I don’t even care!” Finally, Severa broke her aversion and turned her weary eyes to face her roommate. “Do I look like I give two shits about sleep right now?” It was true, she looked horribly worn-out, but the grumpiness in her expression had gone. Somehow her body seemed okay with letting her stay awake. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, got it?”

A tiny smile trickled into Noire’s face. “Mm-hm.” Slowly, she took Severa’s hand from her cheek and set it down on the table, but didn’t pull her own away. One palm laid in a gentle rest upon the other. Watching the moonlight streaming through the windows onto their knuckles and wrists, she felt as if it were a natural state of being; these tendons woven in a canopy were constructed to be together, filling in the gaps. Something mesmerizing.

Severa was paying attention to this newfound union as well; now she was facing her roommate directly, but her eyes were fixed on their hands. “You always do this. You always focus on the screw-ups and forget about all the good things you do, and then you fly off and do something stupid and get hurt.”

There was an undercurrent in Noire’s mind. Yes, that was the best descriptor; she didn’t feel it, but it was there. On the inside, her sense of remorse was snarling and threatening to sink its horrible jaws into her brain again. The counterattack must have been sufficient, however, because while she could observe the battle that was happening, the flickering feeling in her chest continued, unhindered. “I can’t really help it. It just… happens.”

“I know that! And it’s _infuriating_!” The hand underneath tensed up, clenching at an intangible foe that needed a pummeling. “It’s not fair. You deserve…” The tension doubled. Once again, Severa’s eyes shot off to the side and she got that nervous pout of hers. It was the one that usually cut off an unintentionally tender remark, an intimate compliment of some kind.

If it was important, it’d come back up. At least this would be a good moment for Noire to voice her own fear. “You know… earlier, I, um… when you asked me about the timer…” Her roommate’s eyes were straining out of their corners now, which was not helping her struggle to articulate herself. “I thought you were, you know… um. Disappointed in me, I guess, and—”

Noire looked straight ahead to check her roommate’s expression at this moment, but was not expecting what she found. The face Severa was making reminded her of those mean popular girls she’d thankfully stayed away from in high school, always so quick to raise hell at the very forecast of minor disrespect. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, at a normal time, but in the middle of a relatively serious moment, it was definitely out of place. Wide eyes, mouth hanging open, head tilted just a bit forward—Severa looked so shocked, so goddamn offended, that it was impossible not to laugh at her. Unprepared for that reaction, Noire descended quietly into tiny laughter, which soon amplified when it was met with indignant spluttering.

“I can’t— _excuse_ me? I’m not disappointed in you, Noire! Gawds, how did that even—” Once again, the shorter girl had to cut off her own words and shake her hair out a bit to compose herself. Her eyes were still clenched shut when she continued. “Look, I know you have a hard time realizing it, but I’m not staring at you, waiting to see you fail! I want to see you be happy!”

“And if you can be happy with yourself, and you feel like you can handle things on your own, then maybe… then…” In the dim fuzz of weak sideways lighting, a faint tinge was lighting on Severa’s cheeks, highlighting the chaos of her stream of thought, which had neatly dammed itself right before the important part. And in damming itself, it had damned her, incomplete thoughts just basking in the full glare of the lamps like interrogated inmates, just _begging_ to be probed for. Her brow was furrowing with some kind of hesitation, vaguely like a look of pain.

_You won’t need me anymore._

No, she’d never say that. Severa wasn’t some ridiculous spirit mentor figure who spirited herself away to Fuckouttahereland when she figured the hero was ready to go alone. She wasn’t looking for a chance to bolt. Right? After all...

After all, by the time Noire really felt ready to handle taking care of her own mental health, they’d likely be graduating, and then it would come time for them to… go on with their lives. It wasn’t unusual for college friends to move away and leave each other behind. Maybe that’s… what Severa was waiting for? A good moment to get away when it wouldn’t seem like an escape? Was she always—

“Hey!” Like a lamp had been turned on, Noire was yanked back to reality. Now Severa’s other hand was on top of hers in a neat little sandwich (hand sandwich?), squeezing away like she was checking to see Noire’s wispy little appendage was still there. Severa’s face seemed closer, too—oh, she must have leaned in to reach for the hand. Putting in extra effort to make sure her gesture landed.

An extra bit of thought, huh? She did care after all. She probably always did.

Should’ve trusted her from the beginning.

It took a quick shake of the head for Noire to steady herself properly. “Um, wh-what were you saying before?”

“Huh?”

“You were saying something about b-being happy with myself?”

Severa’s cheeks began to turn a shade of red not unlike her hair as she removed her topmost hand and leaned back to her own chair—an unmistakable retreat. “I—uh, that—that was nothing. Forget about it.” Of course it wasn’t nothing—stuttering was one thing, but crossing her arms and looking away were pretty obvious signs of subterfuge. Subterfuge, maybe, but not _subtlefuge_ (eh…)—you’d think someone as intelligent as Severa would eventually figure out how to conceal her feelings. “Seriously, it’s not important!”

“Severa.” Noire answered with the most rigid voice she could muster, forcing her roommate to make eye contact. Her grip on the remaining hand tightened, a clasp of pursuit and support at once. “Please just tell me.”

It really was like an interrogation, Noire reflected, watching the other girl fidget in her seat. Severa’s eyes just didn’t know where to settle, bouncing nervously all over the room like the directions to a third option were scrawled on the walls. Soon her weight fell on her elbows as she leaned down onto folded arms, hiding her face. “I-I was just saying… maybe when you feel comfortable, then…” Her voice faltered and she buried herself in her little nest of limbs; however, her silence only lasted a second before she gave some incoherent, muffled answer that got stuck on the surface of her forearms much like the kitchen light.

“…Sorry?”

Severa’s head shot up just long enough for her to blurt _“then maybe you’ll want to go out with me!”_ before burrowing back down.

It was the kind of outburst that left guaranteed silence in its wake, usually of the stunned or embarrassed variety, but the sudden stillness was a comfort. The room itself seemed to warm up, no longer a chilly and sterilized kitchenette, but a comfortable living space, just as restorative as the place she called home. It was quiet in the room; the lights seemed to have stopped buzzing for a bit, traffic outside was nonexistent, and neither of the girls at the table said anything to break the calm. Sound was a disturbance, and even soft music would have interrupted this moment; still there was none. Even within Noire’s head, the static noise was clearing away. Maybe it was the absence of tempestuous doubt that allowed her to recognize how quiet it was.

After all, now she knew the truth without any ambiguity. The single most important person in her life did believe in her, did wish to be around her, truly did care for and about her. The heat in her cheeks wasn’t born of anger or regret, but of honesty. Noire, for what felt like the first time, knew she was appreciated. And it was liberating beyond all phrasing, beyond whatever could be conveyed by the fettered reach of language, to know that her love for someone else was finally reciprocated—equally and exactly. She was blessed to have Severa—the one person who had always been there, and always would be.

Noire’s thoughts were considerably less eloquent than this, of course, because it was unbelievably late and she was groggy as fuck. But the feeling was there.

Moving as naturally as air itself, Noire lifted her hand from Severa’s and laid it on the girl’s forearm. “That would make me happy.”

Her roommate slowly picked up her head from within its fleshy hiding spot. “What?” she murmured, sounding slightly teary, definitely too flushed to get any more red in the face.

A soft smile and a light squeeze of the arm. “I… we don’t need to wait, Severa. I-If you want to go on a date, then…” Now she couldn’t help but genuinely break into a full grin. “Um… that’d be nice.”

Now, praise the gods, Severa had a tiny smile of her own, albeit one aimed at the table again. She moved one tired hand to cover Noire’s and said, “I figured you wouldn’t want to bother with… y’know, having a girlfriend if you didn’t have a full handle on your health…”

“You’ve been with me forever. I-If it’s you, it’s not that different, right?” (What a miracle she ever got that whole sentence out! Her heart was still jittery from the _girlfriend_ part.)

“… No, it’s not. You’re right.” Severa raised her face and Noire found herself staring into two beautiful brown eyes, radiating fire and warmth. The strength in that gaze was unmatchable, fierce, and above all, rejuvenating. “I’ll stay with you, okay?”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

Noire let the words hang without giving a reply. And then, under her own power, she put her feet on the floor and got up from her chair. But instead of standing up straight, she leaned forward across the corner of the table.

As she reached over to hold the face of her paramour with the hand that wasn’t currently supporting her weight, Noire considered that this might be a reckless decision. She’d never done this before. She could tell Severa was nervous as the distance between their faces narrowed. And, of course, her judgment was probably clouded from fatigue. The awkward tremor in her knees (thankfully unseen) told her to back off and retreat now, but Noire refused to listen—refused to be held back by her own worries.

For a few moments they stayed frozen this way, eyes locked, faces full of adolescent fear, probably only separated by centimeters. Then, with probably unintended enthusiasm, Severa brought up her hand and pressed it into the back of Noire’s head, burying her fingers in slightly greasy hair and feeling through it. This was the signal that prompted that head to rush forward and reach its desired destination.

Severa still had crumbs on her lips, which did nothing to interrupt the echoing beauty of their first kiss. Their teethed clacked together a few times, and that made no difference either. Not even stopping to breathe in the middle could dampen the spreading warmth of this experience. Noire felt her heart making dangerous maneuvers within its bony cage, the usual flip-flop of the stomach; for once, however, it felt natural and welcome. When they finally pulled apart and beamed giddy smiles to each other across the air, it seemed like it had lasted forever, yet still hadn’t been long enough.

“Unbelievable,” Severa whispered despite her plastered grin, “going for the kiss before even the first date.”

Absentmindedly, Noire moved her hand to wipe the remaining crumbs off Severa’s lips. “Was that okay?”

Severa gave a soft giggle as she started brushing crumbs off of Noire’s lips in return. “You’re fine, weirdo.” After a brief pause, she said, “Uh, we should probably head off to bed soon. I don’t know how late it is.”

All the weariness of Noire’s body caught up to her abruptly as Severa rose to bag the cookies for later (after making sure they were no longer needed, of course). An unwelcome reminder of the frailty of humanity, but also a sign of a day well spent. Or really, a night. Maybe half an hour. How did that just _happen_? They’d gone for more than ten years without ever getting anywhere close to a confession, and now… now this. Gods, that moved fast. It almost felt like it had been a dream. Wait, was she dreaming right now? Crap. Maybe she really should have gone to bed a while ago.

“Hey,” came the call from back near the stoves, “don’t fall asleep out here! At least wait until you get to bed. I’m too tired to carry you.”

“Oh, um…” Noire managed to get to her feet when a new thought struck her. And this time, it was _definitely_ not going to work, but what the hell. She could at least pass it off as fatigue.

She fidgeted. “R-Remember how, when we were kids...?”

* * *

 

It worked.

The box fan Severa brought from home hummed quietly at an indistinguishable wavelength, set to low in order to offset body heat. It had taken a few minutes to get Severa to give up on her essay for the night (“you have _time_ , it’s _fine_ ”) but eventually they closed down the laptop and shut off the lights. Now the room was dark, save for the dim aura filtering through the window shades from the streetlights outside. In the quietude, there was a beautiful sort of order to the room. Everything was in the exact spot it was meant to fill. For example, the covers were completely untouched on Severa’s bed, one of Noire’s was folded up and tucked in the closet, and both of the room’s inhabitants were snuggled up together in one bed.

Noire was the big spoon—she happened to be just a couple inches taller, a fact she was prepared to take advantage of whenever necessary (and sometimes when unnecessary, too). That disparity would put Noire was in the perfect position to put her head on Severa’s shoulder, her chin bumping against the bones hidden within, but sadly, since they were horizontal, it was more comfortable to simply let her head rest on the pillow, facing directly into the back of the shorter girl’s head. Severa had let her hair down, as you do when you go to bed, and now it spilled haphazardly into the limited space between the two. She’d washed it recently, it seemed, since it still smelled of cute, fruity shampoo. Yes, this was better than leaning on Severa’s shoulder; her nose was close enough to continually receive this blessed aroma.

Having her nose that close also meant breathing directly onto the back of Severa’s head all the time, which Noire could only hope wasn’t a bother. Luckily, it seemed her girlfriend (girlfriend!) was perfectly content with this, enough to have already fallen asleep. Perhaps it was reassuring to feel each other’s inhalations and exhalations; Noire had wrapped her arms around Severa’s midsection, and the rise and fall of the smaller girl’s belly was comfort enough. It wouldn’t have been surprising if their breathing synchronized by accident.

Their eyelids were heavy, and the night’s dusky embrace (barely stronger than the one shared between the girls) was closing in on them quickly. Noire began to muse on the good fortune of her situation, getting to hold the girl she loved in her arms as they slept, but nothing really came of that train of thought. Her head was just a murky swirl of vague happiness on a pastel background, positive in feeling, but absolutely and definitively so, making it impossible to pick out the real positive truth of the matter. Nothing concentrated emerged as she closed her eyes—a marked improvement on the demons that nipped at her mind earlier. Now, her brain was at peace.

Both ladies slept very, very well that night.

**Author's Note:**

> "I HAVE TO SQUIRT THIS OUT BEFORE THE NEW FIRE EMBLEM HITS JAPAN OR MY 15 MINUTES OF RELEVANCE GOES DOWN THE TUBE"
> 
> I think I said this on my tumblr some time ago, but for a while I looked at my ships (fandom and oc) and felt weird about not having any childhood friend ships in my repertoire. It felt like I was missing something, you know? Luckily, it turns out these two are basically childhood friends! And BOY HOWDY do I feel this ship. Ugh. Just-- In my bones. all over. I can't even write all the stuff that comes to mind.


End file.
